Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Rhett
Indigestion is a familiar feeling to me. You can’t be a single dad and not experience a shit ton of it over the years. But today’s version is different. It looks a lot like Mary London Winthrop.
Goddamn, she got under my skin yesterday.
So pretty and untouchable in that pink fancy dress.
Not even models on the front of the magazines I see at the grocery checkout are as perfect and airbrushed as that woman up close and personal.
I felt like just breathing in her presence was going to mess her up somehow.
Everything about her, from her perfect smiles to her modulated voice, is calculated. Contrived. Fake.
But then she had the audacity to go outside, praise my son for his exceptional work, forgive his theft, and promise to promote his services to her friends.
She acted like a warm-blooded, down-to-earth woman who had no problem talking to a teen boy out in the hot summer sun with a high risk of melting.
And Rylan ate it up.
I pop two antacids in my mouth and crush them between my teeth.
“You ready, Dad?” Rylan pops his head in my room, dressed in the one and only button-down shirt he has that still fits after his latest growth spurt. His jeans aren’t fancy, but they’re clean and paired with one of my belts. Hell, the kid even brushed his dang hair this morning.
“In a hurry?” I grouse, looking around for my boots.
“Well, we can’t be late. What would Mary London think?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I don’t care what she thinks. And it’s Ms. Winthrop until she tells you otherwise.”
Rylan grins and it hits me I haven’t see his carefree smile in a long time. “She did! We were texting last night and she said to stop making her feel old. Also, she got me a job raking pine needles at an old lady’s house.”
I tug on my boots and head for the door. “Does this old lady have a name?”
Rylan’s thumbs move on his phone screen. “Ms. Birdie?”
That stuns a laugh out of me. “Ms. Birdie is still around?” I clap Rylan on the shoulder. “Watch your step with that one. She was feisty when I was a boy and she’s even older now.”
Rylan’s face pales. I feel bad for making him doubt his first paying job. I put my arm around his shoulders and rejoice in my head when he doesn’t instantly fling it off. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Let’s get going.”
We head to the same church I drove by every day when I was a kid.
The same church I never went to, not even once.
It was yet one more reason the Prices were part of the undesirables of Heaven, Mississippi.
Raised by an alcoholic grandfather and never went to church.
That’s enough to have everyone lookin’ down their noses at us.
We park and head for the front door. Only a few stragglers are still heading inside, so we hustle to join them. Right at the entry, I pull off my cowboy hat. An older man at the front door shakes our hands. I’m sure it’s meant to feel welcoming, but all I feel is judged.
“There’s Mary London!” Rylan whisper-yells, darting to the right.
I have to hurry to keep up with him. He taps a blonde woman on the shoulder and she turns around, that fake smile already in place.
Mary London leaps to her feet and hugs my son before spinning to introduce him to the older woman sitting next to her.
I feel like a third wheel, standing in the aisle and blocking everyone’s view, uncertain where I should go.
Maybe there are some seats in the back we can squeeze into.
An organ at the front starts to play and I swear I have a bead of sweat forming on the back of my neck.
“Mr. Price?”
Mary London’s sweet voice has me blinking back to the people around me. “Huh?”
Her smile turns brittle, but I have to hand it to her, it doesn’t slide right off her face. Not even a fraction. “We have room. Come sit with us.” She gestures behind her where my son is already seated and talking animatedly with a couple around my age.
I step sideways into the row. There’s nowhere to sit except for right next to Mary London on the end.
I can’t walk away now. Not without looking extremely rude.
Contrary to popular belief, I do have some limits on my rudeness.
We both sit at the same time and Mary London’s soft hips instantly press against my side.
Goddamn, there’s too many people in this pew.
I rest my hat on my lap and grit my teeth.
“Rhett, this is Birdie. Birdie, this is Rhett Price. He’s Rylan’s father.”
Birdie reaches over Mary London to shake my hand.
She’s wearing a voluminous dress in the brightest colors I’ve ever seen.
The rings on her hand squeeze into mine with surprising strength.
She looks the same after all these years, just a few more wrinkles.
“Oh, I know you, honey. I know your grandfather too. How come he ain’t here with ya? ”
She catches me off guard, but I answer her the same way I answer most things: with a noncommittal grunt.
A man starts talking into the microphone at the front of the church and Birdie sits back.
But not before I catch her sly grin and knowing look.
She was trying to catch me off guard. She knows Papaw would never darken the door of this church.
But I don’t have time to wonder if lightning is going to strike with me inside the place of worship.
I end up on my feet when the music starts and Mary London grabs my elbow to make me stand with her.
I end up spending the next hour trying to focus on what the minister is saying instead of each inhale of Mary London’s lungs that causes her body to move ever so slightly against mine.
A familiar older man several pews in front of us looks back at me with a dirty look every so often, but I can’t place him.
Mary London must come to church often because she knows every single word of the songs.
As expected, her voice is perfectly in tune and soft like the voice of an angel.
Goddamn her.
When the service ends, I crane my neck to make eye contact with Rylan.
I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
Birdie blocks me, returning to the subject of my family and the joy of my return to town.
I can only guess that she’s joking about the joy part.
Pretty sure no one was missing any Prices.
“I heard you’re fixin’ up that house you bought,” Birdie’s saying.
“Yes, ma’am,” I grumble for the twentieth time.
“You gonna say anything else but yes, ma’am?” Birdie smiles at me like she enjoys teasing me.
“He’s a man of few words, Birdie,” Mary London finally interjects, her hand landing softly on my arm. “But let me tell you, he does a fine job cleaning. Which, as you well know, is a hard quality to find in a man. We can’t give him too hard of a time.”
Birdie laughs loudly, then turns the other way to speak with the couple next to Rylan. Mary London, hand still on my arm, leans in a bit closer.
“She’s good people, I swear.”
I grunt. “I’m sure. I’m just not that good with people…socially.”
Mary London’s soft laughter is prettier than the music they played during the service. “Oh, you don’t say?” She squeezes my arm. “Don’t you worry, I’m social enough for both of us, honey!”
I don’t have anything to say to…that. The way she said “us,” implying her and I are a team on something. Or the way she rescued me from Birdie’s clutches. Or the fact she called me honey.
Mary London lets go of my arm, as if my silence is expected. “I wanted to speak to you about some business matters, but now is not the time nor the place. Come by my boutique sometime this week when you have time?”
She tilts her head back to hold my gaze, that serene smile locked in place while she waits for my answer.
She’s not dressed as fancy as she was yesterday, but she looks even prettier for it.
Soft ruffled dress with a small flower pattern, heeled boots, and quite a few layers of fine gold necklaces lie against her chest. She’s the picture of modern Southern femininity.
I stuff my cowboy hat back on my head and give her a nod. “How does tomorrow morning work for you?”
Monday morning brings another round of indigestion. Apparently not for Rylan though. He’s up with his alarm instead of me having to physically push him out of bed at the last minute. He even grabs an apple and bites into it before dashing out the door for the bus stop just down our street.
“See you later tonight! Don’t forget I’m working at Birdie’s after school!” he yells over his shoulder. I watch him go, thankful for his miraculous good attitude, but not sure where it’s coming from.
I push off the front doorframe and grab my hat after Rylan climbs into the yellow school bus and the brake lights disappear around the corner. I can’t sit here all day trying to figure out the brain of a teen boy. I promised Mary London I’d show up at Golden Halo before she opened for the day.
At the last minute, I pull the truck into a parking spot in front of Cloud Nine Coffee.
I hesitate before getting out, wondering what the hell I’m actually doing.
With a grumble under my breath, I head for the coffee shop, queuing in line with all the other caffeine-addicted folks.
I mean, I love coffee too, but I brew my own at home for a fraction of the cost these people are about to pay.
When it’s my turn, I order a black coffee and then pause when I realize I have no idea what Mary London would drink.
Probably something fancy and way beyond my knowledge.
I rub the back of my neck. “You got anything a woman would like?”
The young woman behind the counter smiles patiently. “Does she like chocolate? Or caramel? Or maybe something like a matcha?”
I don’t have two fuckin’ ideas what a matcha is. “Uh. Not sure.”
The woman’s smile turns a bit icier. “Who you gettin’ coffee for, sir?”
“Mary London Winthrop,” I whisper, leaning in so no one else hears me. This is fuckin’ ridiculous. I shouldn’t have stopped. I’m not the kind of guy who brings coffee to people he barely knows.
“Oh!” The woman brightens. “She always gets an iced mocha, skim milk, no whip in the summer.”
I nod. “All right.”
“You want that?” The woman’s pen hovers over a plastic cup.
“Yeah.”
She scribbles something on the cup and then gives me the total. I tap my credit card and start to shift over so the next person can order.
“You have a nice day, you hear?” the woman calls to me, way too happy.
I stare at her without a response, wondering if she’s all right in the head.
“I know what you mean. I told her to dial it back, but she won’t hear of it,” says a woman sitting at a nearby table, apparently watching me. She’s dressed head to toe in black, tilting her head toward the barista who took my order. “Something about small-town kindness, I don’t freakin’ know.”
It’s actually refreshing to hear someone without a Southern drawl.
I nod at the woman, happy to hear I’m not the only one feeling like a fish out of water, but also not inclined to start a conversation with a stranger.
Not long after, my name is called and I grab both drinks off the counter without a word.
My twenty percent tip is my thank-you. My philosophy is that if I tip, I shouldn’t have to also verbalize the thank-you.
The tip is the only thank-you that really matters anyway.
Golden Halo is just up the street, so I don’t bother to move the truck.
When I get to the boutique, it’s still closed, which I know because of the hand-painted sign in the window.
Mary London’s face appears seconds later and the locks on the door flip over.
She pulls the door open and steps back to invite me in.
I breeze by her, inhaling her perfumed scent before I’m aware I’m doing it.
The place is sparkling, every surface either gold, glass, or a fabric so expensive I hope I never have the urge to sneeze in here.
“Good morning,” she trills, shutting the door and flipping all the locks again. I’m acutely aware that we’re locked in here together now. Just me and the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
She spins back around in spiky heels, cuffed gray suit pants, and a pale pink blouse with a tie at the neck. Her tanned arms are bare except for a stack of gold bracelets on each wrist. Today her hair is down, curled like she stopped at a salon on the way into work.
“Here,” I say by way of greeting, thrusting the iced mocha at her.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the drink that’s sweating all over my hand. “Well, now, what is this, Rhett Price? Is this a kind gesture?”
Wow, that drawl was thick. I tilt my head and study her. “Was that…are you teasing me?”
Her grin becomes an exclamation mark of excitement.
I’ve never seen someone wear a smile across their whole body, but somehow Mary London manages it, turning her beauty into something straight from the heavens.
She lifts her hands and takes the drink from me, her fingers sliding against mine intimately.
I mean, she just takes the cup, but it feels like the warmest caress I’ve had from a woman in years. I clear my throat and take a sip of my drink, nearly burning my tongue on the hot liquid.
Mary London takes a sip of her drink, squeezes her eyes shut, and lets out a little whimper that has my pants fitting like they’re three sizes too small.
I choke on the hot liquid and have to shove a fist against my mouth to keep from spitting it out.
Mary London reaches around me and smacks me on the back.
“You good, honey?”
I stare down at the small woman, beyond perfect in every way. A woman I’m wildly attracted to and incredibly all wrong for.
Pretty sure I’m anything but good.